


"So, how do you like the show so far?"

by aspen (aspenwritesthings)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Clarke Griffin, Dapper Lexa, Dom Lexa, F/F, Lexa in a suit, Light Dom/sub, Oh and Also, Pole Dancing, Power Bottom Clarke Griffin, Power Play, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sub Clarke, Top Lexa, forgive me i wrote this so long ago, how do they even know each other, princess kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspenwritesthings/pseuds/aspen
Summary: Clarke is a pole dancer.She takes a suited Lexa along to her workplace, in hopes of getting it on, I guess.Spoiler: it works.





	"So, how do you like the show so far?"

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been like two years since i posted anything here.   
> I found this thing on my PC a month ago, i wrote it in like 2016 when i was really gay, and i thought it'd be fun to post it.   
> I think i originally wanted it to be a series?  
> Enjoy!

Lexa  
“So, how do you like the show so far?”  
How do I like you dancing half-naked on a stage two meters from me?   
Lexa nods, taking a sip of whiskey, looking down into her glass then towards the stage, avoiding Clarke’s gaze. She doesn’t know what to say. Part of her wants to be bold: to describe exactly what she’s been thinking of The Show for the past hour, to make sure Clarke is unable to concentrate for the remaining part of the night. But the other part, the one that’s still stunned and vulnerable and that just wants to melt into a puddle on the floor and beg for Clarke to let her touch her, is still too strong for her to be sure she won’t stutter if she tries. Instead, she meets Clarke’s smug eyes and asks a less-risky question:   
“How long is it until your shift ends?”   
“Thirty minutes” Clarke answers, a little smile on her lips that seems to ask “Why, are you eager to get out of here?”. As much as Lexa finds it attractive, she finds Clarke’s confidence irritating. She doesn’t like being at her mercy. Lexa vows to get back at her as soon as she can.   
“Good. Can you keep this on afterwards?”  
Instinctively, she reaches out with her free hand towards Clarke’s waist, stroking the black fabric of the bodysuit. It’s humid with perspiration and clings to Clarke’s skin, so thin Lexa can feel her warmth radiating against the palm of her hand. She realises she could’ve startled Clarke by suddenly getting touchy, but the other girl doesn’t seem to mind – instead, her smile grows and she leans her face closer to Lexa’s to say:   
“I will if you want me to. May I ask why?”  
“Because I want to take it off myself,” Lexa answers without blinking. Maybe she can be bold, after all. Clarke’s smile falters for just a moment as she processess what Lexa is implying, eyes glinting with something less irritating, more exciting. A second later, the smile is back and Clarke is closed and protected again, but Lexa has seen the effect her words can have on her. Lexa feels a jolt of excitement in her stomach at the thought.   
“Now get back up there, they’re waiting for you” Lexa adds after making hasty eye-contact with the body guard in the nearest corner: a guy some decimeters taller than her, standing arms crossed next to the stage, staring pointedly at Lexa’s hand on Clarke’s waist. Lexa withdraws her hand and Clarke backs away, winking at her before swiftly jumping back onto the stage. It takes her seconds to be back on her pole. It takes Lexa minutes to get her eyes off of her and smile politely at the guard while ordering her third glass of whiskey.   
Clarke  
Half an hour later Clarke is off the stage and making her way out of the club, Lexa by her side. She’s dressed again: wearing sneakers, jeans and a thin bomber jacket – feeling slightly underdressed next to Lexa, who somehow still looks smart in her suit after spending two hours drinking liquor at an overheated bar. She’s keeping close to Clarke, casting the suited men polite smiles all the while keeping a slightly possesive arm hovering over the small of her back.  
Clarke is sore and sweaty and her jeans are burning the raw skin of her inner thighs. She’s in that heavy, drained, but strangely comfortable daze that only dancing creates – and yet, Lexa’s presence reminds her of the fact that the night isn’t over. She keeps Clarke wide awake despite the tiredness of her limbs. Clarke appreciates the arm almost closing around her, the stern but distracted look in Lexa’s eyes – she hopes it means Lexa is as worked up as she is. After all, she clearly stated she wanted to undress her earlier – Clarke doesn’t know what else that could have meant appart from “let’s fuck”. She hopes she’s right.   
She lets Lexa guide her along the street and hail a taxi for the both of them. Once inside, Lexa gives the driver an adress Clarke doesn’t recognise before leaning back against the leather seat, casually laying a hand on Clarke’s thigh. It’s surprising, but not in a bad way as it’s exactly what Clarke had hoped for. She loves making out in taxi back seats - she assumes that’s where this is going. But with Lexa, she doesn’t know where to start. It’s so much easier to be brave when she has a pole to cling to, an estrade to stand on, an audience to admire her. Distance is key. A car doesn’t allow that. The fact that it’s Lexa makes it worse – she’s disarming in a way that the suited men at the club aren’t: Clarke is seduced by her.   
Clarke looks at Lexa for real for the first time since she got off the stage. She looks beautiful, coloured spots and stripes of light floating across her profile. The straight outline of her nose is still visible in the dark, her lips that Clarke already knows are soft. She can’t help but imagine them on herself – on her collarbones, her thighs. And after those lips, hopefully her teeth. God Clarke wants Lexa to bite her. To take her, hasn’t she been asking for it for long enough?   
She cuts her thoughts short when Lexa looks back at her, green gaze steady. She still has that serious look about her, but it’s infused with satisfaction. She knows she’s in control. Clarke lifts an eyebrow, shooting a questioning look at the hand on her thigh. Lexa raises her own eyebrow, amused. Clarke tries to keep her composure and patience – Lexa can’t know how confused and frustrated she’s getting. But once she speaks, what comes out sounds tense and slightly bitchy:  
“Are you gonna kiss me or what?”  
She’s met with a low chuckle.  
“I don’t do that in taxis, Clarke. It’s a principle of mine”   
Lexa smiles, but her eyes are smug. Thriumphant. Just like leaving the club has made Clarke unsure, it seems to have empowered Lexa: suddenly she’s closer to her prey, charismatic and dangerous. For now she’s playing with Clarke, making her wait, testing to see how far she can go before Clarke’s pride disintegrates and leaves her begging.   
Clarke can only do as she’s told: wait. She leans her head against the cold window and tries to enjoy the sight of the city at night - tries to concentrate on red backlights floating by, yellow squares of life where people are still awake, night shops and three AM sidewalk people. Tries to breathe evenly. Tries to ignore the pulse between her thighs. Tries not to let Lexa know just how electric her thigh is feeling.   
This isn’t how Clarke had thought she would be. She’d imagined all kinds of desperate, passionate, violent releases – but not that Lexa might turn the situation around by increasing the tension, making her wait. She didn’t expect Lexa to have more stamina than her. Clarke knows she’s fallen into a trap – that this is Lexa’s revenge.   
Clarke is too busy breathing to care about where the taxi stops. All she knows is that Lexa takes her by the hand and the next thing she knows, she’s in alone with Lexa in a fancy lift. Perfect. Fuck breathing. Lexa has let go of her hand and is leaning against the railing along the wall of the lift, watching Clarke in the mirror that covers one of the walls with that same little smile. Clarke wants to think she’s off-guard. She steps into Lexa’s space and leans up for a kiss – Lexa turns her head away easily. She gives Clarke an amused look in the mirror.   
“Eager, are we?”  
Clarke leans back against the railing, feeling slightly ashamed. Lexa is the one who has had three glasses of whisky, yet she is the one to make a fool of herself by seeming desperate. Still, she huffs.  
“Lexaa,” she knows she sounds like a child, but she feels like one, being denied what she wants the most right now, “please don’t say you’re one of those people who don’t like kisssing”.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss you later. But once I do I won’t stop, and we still have to get to my flat”.  
Clarke is naïve enough to believe her. A few more seconds, she thinks as she starts breathing again staring at the numbered buttons as they light up one by one – slowly. Eventually the doors open and Lexa leads the way out, this time only smiling at Clarke and walking out without looking over her shoulder. Clarke follows, irritated by how sure Lexa is she will follow – most of all she kind of irritates herself by doing exactly what Lexa predicted.   
Once they get inside the flat though, Lexa does grab her hand. She turns on some lights and takes Clarke into what looks like the living room. She leaves Clarke standing in the middle of the room and sits down on the sofa herself. Clarke goes to join her, but Lexa stops her with a sign of her hand.   
“No Clarke. You stay where you are”.   
Clarke is startled, but she obeys. She stands still, feeling exposed with Lexa sitting a few meters in front of her, with those eyes that seem to pierce right through her. Lexa smiles.   
“Good. You can strip now”.   
Honestly, Clarke should have expected this by now. At first she wants to complain, to tell Lexa she just wants to be fucked by now – but Lexa already knows that. That’s why she’s looking so smug, Clarke realises. Begging is giving in, and giving in is losing. Clarke hates losing. She started this game for god’s sake – Lexa was supposed to lose. Lose control. Clarke can’t let Lexa win now – she’ll just have to affect Lexa just as much.   
So she stares back at Lexa as she shrugs her jacket off her shoulders. It falls to the floor behind her, and she feels Lexa’s eyes flicking down: following the angles of her shoulders, the curve of her bust and waist and then back up to her face – searching for weakness. Clarke smiles back at her, ignoring the warmth in her stomach, and gets her jeans off. Pole dancing teaches you one thing: grace. Clarke knows she looks good, knows Lexa thinks so too by the way she’s been watching her all night. She even knows how to get her jeans off elegantly. What’s unusual is the difficulty she has to meet Lexa’s eyes – no men at the club intimidate her like this. Here, in Lexa’s private living room, she doesn’t feel as in control as she should. She goes to slide the straps of her bodysuit off her shoulders, but Lexa stops her with a short movement of her hand.   
“Keep that on, I’ll take it off for you. Come here now”.   
“Uh-uh Clarke. Hands and knees”.   
Clarke gets down on all fours easily. If Lexa wants obedience, she’ll get obedience. So much obedience she can’t help herself but fuck Clarke eventually. Better to go with the flow – the more Clarke fights, the more time it’ll take until she gets to see Lexa naked. She tells herself she’s being manipulative, just playing along to please Lexa, until she pleases her. The only thing that hurts her pride is the wetness running down her thighs. A little voice in the back of her head suggests that maybe she likes crawling for Lexa. She ushers the thought away and concentrates on swinging her hips, arching her back just enough and maintaining the burning eye contact.   
Lexa watches her intently, her face set but her eyes alight. Once Clarke is at her feet, she pats her thigh, nodding for Clarke to come sit in her lap. Clarke obliges, straddling Lexa’s thighs, feeling slender hands slide under her ass to keep her in place. Soon comes the first kiss on her neck, and Clarke goes still to let encourage Lexa to keep going. Let her feel that she likes it – Clarke wants more, at almost any cost. Lexa’s lips are soothing against her burning skin, yet they make the burning worse. She waits for the next kiss, anticipating where it will land, stretching her neck back to show her cooperation – but there is no next kiss. Instead, Lexa’s hands are moving, pressing Clarke’s hips against herself repetitively. Clarke follows the grinding movement eagerly, greeted by an appreciative hum from Lexa. Clarke takes this as her cue to undress Lexa too. She lifts her hands to Lexa’s collar, but barely has time to touch the first button before Lexa grunts in protest and says:  
“Not yet, Clarke. Turn around.”  
Grumpily agreeing to get up, making sure to give Lexa a good view of her ass as she lowers herself back down into her lap. She is welcomed by those cool hands, this time running over her hips and thighs, up her stomach. They swat Clarke’s away at any attempts at reciprocating.   
“Don’t I get to touch you too?”  
“Two can play a game princess”  
They both feel the violent shiver that runs through Clarke’s body at the name. Lexa’s grip on her waist tightens and she chuckles, that short low sound that does more things to Clarke than it should.  
“Where does that come from? I like it”  
“I thought it would fit you”  
She can feel Lexa smirking against the side of her neck. She doesn’t have time to think of it further though, because suddenly Lexa is kissing and biting at her skin, her hands sliding down from her waist to grip at her upper thighs. Clarke can’t help but let out a moan, arching her back into Lexa, grabbing at the girl’s arms for support. She gives in.  
“Fuck. Fuck.”  
“You like that, princess?”  
Lexa  
Clarke moans again. Lexa grits her teeth at the sound. Clarke’s façade is breaching and she loves it. She tries to keep her composure, kissing Clarke’s neck some more, digging her tumbs into muscular thighs. She’s finally touching Clarke after hours of waiting. She’s got her naked and grinding into her lap – just what she deserves after teasing Lexa for hours. Lexa is determined to make her desperate – to reduce her to a begging mess. And then – then, she’ll fuck her so hard.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me what you thought, both good and bad.   
> Have a great day!


End file.
